


Rare and Sweet As Cherry Wine

by loubuttons



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maria Stark's Bad Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loubuttons/pseuds/loubuttons
Summary: Tony can't help himself -- every time Peter bleeds, he bleeds too.





	Rare and Sweet As Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckets_Of_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/gifts).



> This idea has been rattling around in my brain for months and I finally got the courage to write it. If you didn't read the tags, this story is about child abuse so PLEASE be careful. 
> 
> Title is taken from Cherry Wine by Hozier. 
> 
> For Leah, who encouraged me to write this jumbled mess in the first place.

He’s hardly in the door before Tony catches the red stain on his lips. He doesn’t think before pulling Peter’s face into his hands.

 

“Whoa,” Peter says, “Hello to you too,”

 

“Your lip is bleeding,”

 

“Oh,” He goes limp, letting Tony angle his jaw.

 

“What happened?” Tony glares at the blackening blood trapped in the cracks of his lips.

 

“Nothing. It’s just dry outside,”

 

As he drags him to the bathroom sink, Tony asks, “Are you drinking water?”

 

“Yes, _Mom_ ,”

 

Hyper-focused, he doesn’t acknowledge the snark. He wets a washcloth. Gently, dabs it against Peter’s bottom lip. His grip on Peter’s jaw is too tight, but he can’t make himself let go. With his hand still locked around his face, Tony fumbles for a pot of vaseline he keeps in the cabinet. He knows Peter can do this himself -- he _knows_ \-- but still dips his own finger into the pot. After years of piano lessons, he knows that his ring finger is the weakest, so he uses it to softly smear balm on the cracks. Peter’s staring at him like he’s never seen Tony before.

 

To break the silence, Tony says, “Beethoven tied his finger to the ceiling,”

 

“What?” Peter wrinkles his nose.

 

“It was weak,” He explains, struggling to repair broken skin, “So he tied a string around it and nailed the other end to the ceiling,”

 

“That sounds made up,” When his tongue accidentally catches Tony’s knuckle, Peter tries to pull his head away.

 

Tony can’t stop gazing at the blood on his bottom lip, “Yeah, it could be,”

 

“Tony,” Peter calls, “You fixed it,”

 

“Right,” He drops his hands, “Sorry, Kid,”

 

“Yeah, it’s okay just. It’s okay,”

 

He obviously wants to ask why he does this. But Tony can’t help himself -- every time Peter bleeds, he bleeds too.

  


_“Honestly, it doesn’t hurt that bad, Mom,” Tony leans away from her hands._

_  
_ _“Good,” She smiles, the corners of her mouth trembling. He stops fighting her hands._

 

_The cut on his eyelid barely bled, but Maria streaks ointment over the wound like it’s a battle scar. He can’t escape her fussing; every inch of his vision is invaded by her. If he swings his legs while sitting on the bathroom counter, he’ll kick her in the shins._

 

_“Mom,” He says after she re-positions the bandage five times, “It doesn’t need a bandage -- it’s not bleeding anymore,”_

 

_She blinks, “Oh, right,” She gifts him that same broken smile._

 

_“You okay, Mom?”_

 

_“Yes,” She cups his cheek, “I wouldn’t trade my son for anyone in the world,” Cupping his cheek, she gazes fondly at her child._

 

_Her praise dulls the sting of Howard’s words. The eight year old closes his eyes, pressing his nose into her wrist, “No one?”_

 

_Maria laughs with tears in her eyes, “No one,”_

 

_The silence collects, shielding them like the lock on the door._

 

_She smiles again before saying, “Don’t argue next time, alright?” Tony swallows when she whispers, “We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t ask questions,”_

 

_“Okay, Mom,” Gazing at the floor, he refuses to let a single tear fall._

 

_“Thank you, Baby,” She caresses his brow bone, “I can’t stand to see you bleed,”_

 

“What happened?” Tony demands, back to the door.

 

“Hangnail,” Peter tells him, surrendering his hand.

 

“Did you clean it?”

 

“No,”

 

Tony can’t let go of Peter’s already-healing hand. Quietly, he asks Peter to grab the peroxide behind his own head. They shuffle until their joined hands are over the sink. The icy chemical spills over both their hands, bubbling in Tony’s nail beds.

 

“Do you need me to get a Band-Aid?”

 

Despite hearing the irritation in Peter’s voice, Tony still doesn’t let go. He nods.

 

“You know we could do this in the kitchen,”

 

“No, the bathroom is safer,” Tony murmurs.

 

“How do you figure?” Peter laughs, shifting to lean against the counter

 

“I’m standing between you and the door,”

 

When Peter doesn’t answer, he realizes how paranoid he must sound. He curls his left hand around Peter’s wrist to steady the shaking.

 

“Tony?” Hesitantly, he places a hand on his mentor’s shoulder, “You okay?”

 

Tony hums and nods again, still staring at Peter’s finger. He laughs nervously, “What am I doing? You don’t need a bandaid -- it’s not bleeding anymore,”

  


_“Come, Master Tony,” Jarvis hold out his hand, pulling him gently out of the corner. He lets Tony cling to his dignity and ignores his tears._

 

_Thirteen year olds are too old to be led to bed by their hands, but Tony can’t release Jarvis’ hand. A bowl of ice water waits on his bedside table. Jarvis should have gone home for the night, yet he helps Tony slowly lower his hand into the water. They sit on the edge of his bed, with Jarvis’s hand wrapped around Tony’s wrist. The pressure is comforting and confining at the same time._

 

_“I’m sorry,” He says, “I’m sure it stings,”_

 

_Tony’s thumb is purple and blue, and twice it’s normal size. He stares at it -- in the water it looks grey and dead. Each beat of his heart sends throbs of pain to his finger._

 

_“It’s not so bad,”_

 

_“Yes, I’m sure,” Jarvis agrees, his mouth set in a displeased line. Tony grits his teeth against the pain and shoulders the lie._

 

_“Even though it doesn’t hurt, perhaps we should ask your mother to have you taken to a doctor. It looks broken,” His voice is biting, angry._

 

_“No,” Tony’s tone is hollow._

 

_“Of course not,”_

 

_Despite agreeing with Jarvis -- it certainly is broken -- Tony knows asking for a doctor is pointless. Jarvis will push anyway; when he leaves the house tonight, he’ll beg Maria to even look at Tony’s hand. She’ll say no, but he’ll keep asking. Tony will pretend he can’t hear them. It’s happened too many times before._

 

_“Do you think--” He chokes on the words, “Do you think she’ll come say goodnight?”_

 

_“I could ask her to,”_

 

_Tony sniffles, resenting the air he breathes, “Don’t bother,”_

 

_After several agonizing minutes, Jarvis helps him lift his hand out of the punishing water. Thankfully, Tony’s hand has gone numb, but when he gingerly pats it dry, he bites his tongue until it bleeds. Jarvis leaves him alone for a moment, gone to fetch something. In solitude, he lets the tears fall, hastily hiding them when his friend returns._

 

_“Here,”_

 

_Jarvis offers him a glass and little white pills. Tony tosses back the pain pills without counting them, gulping down the water so fast it trails down his neck._

 

_“Time for bed, Master Tony,”_

 

_Although he dislikes being instructed like a child, he does as he’s told and slips under the covers. Unconsciously he holds his hand close to his chest, shielding it from further harm. When Jarvis stands to turns off the lamp, Tony stares at the wall. He can’t watch him leave._

 

_“Would…” Jarvis pauses, waiting for Tony to look at his soft expression, “Would you like me to stay?”_

 

_“I’m not scared,” Tony answers, aware that that wasn’t the question._

 

_“Then I’ve never known a braver man,” Jarvis answers solemnly._

 

_Gazing up at his butler, Tony chokes on the sincerity in his eyes, “I…” He swallows, stacking another lie atop the others, “He didn’t mean to,”_

 

_Jarvis inhales, and for a moment Tony’s afraid he will shatter the careful illusion they’ve constructed. Then he sighs, nods, and says, “Even so -- I will be here. For whatever you need, “_

 

_The promise numbs the throbbing pain radiating from Tony’s chest, “All night?”_

 

_“Of course,”_

 

_Smoothly, as if it were common practice among butlers, he slides to the floor, Leaning against the bed, he rests within arm’s reach -- Tony could reach out and muss his perfectly combed hair._

 

_“Wake me if you want something,”_

 

_“Thank you, Jarvis,”_

 

_“Of course, Sir,”_

  


“It’s just a bruise, Tony,”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you got hit?”

“I was in the suit,” Peter shrugs, scrubbing soot off his nose, “Besides, you were on the other side of the field,”

 

Guilt is hammering into the side of Tony’s skull. He should never have let Peter join their training sessions. When the Avengers returned, no longer fugitives, his first instinct had been to shield him from them. He gazes at the purple blemish blooming under Peter’s skin and knew he had been right.

 

Tony tilts his head, gesturing with his hands, “That’s what the comms are for,”

 

“I didn’t think it mattered,”

 

“Of course it matters,” He says harshly, “You got hurt,”

 

The rest of the team pauses, watching them unravel. Rhodey steps forward, free of only his helmet.

 

“Uh, Tones, it’s just a bruise,”

 

“So because he’s not bleeding, it doesn’t matter?” Tony squints at him, dropping his hands.

 

“No one said that,” Steve cuts in, ready to soothe.   

 

It feels like slipping back into the old code -- no one said it out loud, so it isn’t true. It feels like he’s on Howard’s side, willing to let him continue as long as they don’t have to talk about it. He steps protectively between Steve and Peter.

 

“You want me to just ignore him and let someone else take care of it,” The accusation tears itself out of his throat. Steve’s team lurks behind him, waiting for the situation to deteriorate.  

 

“Tony,” Bruce steps forward, past Wanda, “Are you okay?”

 

Before Tony can answer, Peter pulls himself forward -- and forces Tony backward -- by tugging on his upper arm, “We’re fine,” His reply is casual, “Just family stuff,”

 

The team disperses, with varying degrees of willfulness.

 

“Thanks,” Tony sighs, feeling embarrassment bubble behind his eyes.

 

“No worries,” Peter says, “I know he freaks you out,”

 

Because he can’t deny it, Tony doesn’t acknowledge that Peter spoke, “Let’s get you some pain killers for your shoulder,”

 

Two hours later, after Peter’s gone home, Steve corners him after dinner.

 

“Can I talk to you?” He looms over Tony’s head, “In private?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony claps him on the shoulder as a show of good will. He knows that he can’t blame Steve for Howard, and regrets it every time he does.

 

“What was earlier about?” Steve asks, once Tony closes the door of his office behind them.

 

They promised each other transparency, but Tony has to remind himself of why he made that commitment. He isn’t in any hurry to discuss his daddy issues with Steve Rogers.

 

“It’s complicated,” He shrugs, a self-conscious tick pulling at the corner of this mouth. He leans against his desk, supporting himself in his palms.

 

Steve nods, “Most things are,”

 

“I’m sorry about…” He waves a hand around vaguely, “Earlier. I’ll try to not let it happen again,”

 

“He’s going to get hurt,” Steve says, “You can’t expect him to come out every fight completely fine,”

 

Crossing his hands over his chest, Tony feels his hackles raise, “And I should just be okay with that?”

 

“No, but you will have to accept it,”

 

“I have accepted it -- he was Spider-Man before we even met. But your kid gets hurt, you take care of it. End of story,” He resists the urge to tell Steve exactly how little he knows Peter, “He shouldn’t go to bed at night nursing a wound that no one knows about,”

 

Resolute, Steve stands his ground, “Are we talking about Peter or you?”

 

Tony doesn’t have an answer. He feels betrayed again, and he doesn’t know why. Will he ever know why?

 

“I thought we weren’t shutting each other out anymore,” He says, staring at Tony with eyes that hold too much sincerity.

 

“So I can’t have an ounce of privacy?”

 

“Not when it affects the rest of the team,”

 

He snaps, “We aren’t much of a team, Steve,”

 

“Tony, if you have something to say--”

 

“You were friends with him,”

 

Steve slumps, exhausted, “I thought we talked about this. Bucky is--”

 

“I’m not talking about Bucky,” His chest aches, “I mean Howard. And I’m sorry but now when I look at you, all I see is him,”

 

Pain crosses his expression, before he can stop it, “I’m sorry, but, Tony…”

 

“Don’t you get it?” He pushes himself off the desk, so afraid that Steve won’t understand, “It’s not -- you scare me,”

 

“What happened that night wasn’t Bucky’s fault and if I could’ve stopped it--”

 

“Get out,” Tony glares at the floor. He’ll never understand, not on his own, and Tony can’t bring himself to vocalize what Howard was -- what he did.

 

“Tony,” Reaching out, he tries to soothe the fresh wound.

 

“Just get out Rogers,”

 

When he turns to leave, Tony feels the guilt crush him again. It’s his fault, always his fault. Steve can’t help what Howard did, and Tony can’t help but hate them both.

  


_“Get_ out _, Jarvis,”_

 

_“You’re hurt, I understand, but --”_

 

_Tony glares at his own reflection, standing the doorway of his en-suite bathroom, “Get out,” He hates the bitterness in his voice, “Go spend Thanksgiving with you family -- I’ll tell Mom why you’re gone,” His eyes are hard, face blank._

 

 _Sighing, Jarvis hangs his head, “He was_ wrong _,”_

 

_“Seriously,” Tony says, pushing off the door frame. The mask cracks, “We don’t need you today. Go be with your kids,”_

 

I don’t need you; I’m not your kid.

 

_As usual, Jarvis hears what he means to say, “As you wish,”_

 

_While he turns the doorknob, he turns, “Howard was wrong -- and I’d be proud if you were my son,”_

 

_Crossing his arms over his chest, he remains silent. Jarvis nods at the final rejection. When the door closes behind him, Tony feels tears stain the mask._

 

_How is it that he loves them both in equal measure?_

  


“Hey, Tony!” Peter chirps, bringing sunshine down to the lab.

 

Tony glances up from the glowing equation, “Hiya, Squirt,”

 

Dropping his bag at Tony’s feet, he asks, “What’re we working on?”

 

“Shock absorption for your new suit,”

 

“Sweet,” Peter mumbles, coaxing a huffed laugh from Tony. Pleased, his eyes dart to his mentors face in time to catch him smiling.

 

“What’re you looking at?”

 

Peter shakes his head, “Nothing,”  

 

After a moment, he asks, “Is this because of my shoulder?”

 

“Maybe,”

 

Peter just nods, not pushing or prodding. Suddenly, everything he wanted to tell Steve rises to the surface. Tony has to explain, or Peter will blame him too.   


“I got hurt a lot as a kid,” His gaze burns a hole in the glowing equation.

 

“Okay,” Peter copies his stance -- feet spread, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I broke my thumb,” His cadence drifts, battered by emotion, “When I was thirteen. It got slammed in the door of that car,”

 

He nods to the relic, which he’s dismantled more times than he can count, looking for answers in its heart.

 

After a moment, he adds, “By my dad,”

 

Peter’s head snaps toward Tony, but he can’t look away from the car, “It was swollen for two weeks, but my mom acted like it never happened. It was like at some point she...stopped caring,”

 

He starts when Peter leans his full weight against his side, “I’m sorry,”

 

“It was -- _she was_ \-- disappointing. He was terrifying but she...she was--” He’s never said any of this before. It’s crushing him. The pressure of Peter’s shoulder against his is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

 

“Is that why it upsets you so much? When I get hurt?”

 

“Children should know that their parents love them,” He answers, watching the numbers swirl around each other and his brain makes them dance, “They shouldn’t be ignored,”

 

“Thank you,” Peter whispers.

 

“For what?”

 

Peter rests his head in the crook of Tony’s neck, “For being better than them -- for caring,”

 

“I didn’t...I had someone else,” Tony confesses, his heart struggling with the words, “He was my friend for a long time. He used to take care of me,”

 

Peter nods, letting it rest. There’s so much that he’s never said and never will, and he feels the silence collect again. But this time, it isn’t locking him in -- it holds them like armor. Hesitantly, he rests his head atop Peter’s.

 

“You spending the night, Kid?”

 

“Yep,”

 

“You cleared it with May?”

 

“Duh,”

 

“Thanks for sticking around, Tater Tot,”

 

“Of course,”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought with comments and/or kudos. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr @loubuttons.


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